our bodies get bigger (and our hearts get torn apart)
by lydiamartins
Summary: In the spring, she sheds her skin.-—ChuckBlair, for Rachel


**title: **our bodies get bigger (and our hearts get torn apart)  
**characters: **Blair Waldorf, Chuck Bass, Eleanor Waldorf, Nate Archibald, Blair's minions, Serena Van Der Woodsen  
**summary:** In the spring, she sheds her skin.-—ChuckBlair, for Rachel  
**a/n: **sorry for spag errors and OCness of characters. i'm not very good at writing chuck/blair romance, especially past the age of around sixteen or seventeen, so i put more friendship and i put lots of flashbacks throughout here and i'm incredibly sorry for the lateness of this. speech is in italics for the most part, and phone calls are in normal. Overall, this is an incredibly AU take on what happened in the time gap.  
**disclaimer: **i don't own anything besides the story idea; the original characters and everything else belong to CW.  
**dedication: **this is for julyi gge, for Rachel (bloodbuzz).  
**prompt: **chuck/blair, what happens in the time gap in new york, i love you xoxo

...

_Present Day—January_

There's something wrong with the way ice forms; among the gaseous pollution, a thin, nearly invisible to the naked eye layer, in a not-really-there way, is the clouded mist of uncertainty, and Blair Waldorf inhales the crisp air, adjusts the pleats of her skirt, removes the ivory headband, and exhales.

Her phone rings once, twice, then she picks up. "I'm on my way, Serena," she says in an exasperated tone. "Just give me a few more minutes, okay? This winter weather is doing horrible things to my skin."

"Uh, okay, there's no easy way to say this, but you need to come to the hospital."

Blair narrows her eyes, stopping at the side of the street. "What's that supposed to mean?" She pauses, "Don't tell me that he-I thought he was fine these days," she speaks quieter. "Why's he back there? I'll do anything I can to help."

"Wrong brother, Blair," Serena sighs. "It's Chuck—"

Without a second's thought, Blair hangs up, purses her lips and walks the other way. Her phone rings once, twice, thrice. Once, twice, thrice: she turns it off, then sighs, and calls Serena back. "What did your darling brother get himself into now?"

"He's in a coma," Serena talks quickly, words a jumble.

Blair stops. "That's not funny, Serena."

"It's not supposed to be. Look, are you coming or—"

"Yes, yes, of course I'm coming. Just give me a few minutes." Of course, the world wouldn't function without ice. Then again, without ice, Chuck Bass wouldn't have slipped into a two month coma.

...

_This dress makes me look pale, Mother, _Blair drawls out. _I can't be looking pale if Nate comes over. Especially ever since Serena got back from Paris, and got this major tan. Why didn't we go to Paris?_

Eleanor Waldorf takes in a breath, examining the mess of designer dresses splayed out across the off-white sheets, tangled into a horrible looking mess. _Darling, you said that you wanted to go to Sun Valley. You know how much you adore skiing._

_Yeah, well, Nate takes priority over something as stupid as skiing. _She pauses, setting one of the pale pink dresses down on the bed. _When's Dad coming home? He should be back by now._

_Well, _her mother looks down, _he's been busy lately. Lots of work, lots of clients._

From the lower floor of the Waldorf's penthouse, a brief echo of the doorbell sing-songs. _He's here,_ Blair purses her lips, entangling her fingers together. _Please go stall him._

Eleanor only rolls her eyes. _For heaven's sake Blair, I'm your mother, not your nanny. Anyways, I have work to do: I'll be in London for the next two weeks, and I'm leaving later today, so we can catch up when I get back. _She moves to leave the room in a mist of jasmine perfume, and Blair exhales letting her crisp fingernails form crescent marks in the insides of her palms.

Blair smiles weakly, _Sure, mom. Have a good trip,_ and doesn't mean it this time.

...

She's leaning back on the maroon-coloured sofa in the penthouse's living room; the chandelier above glistens as a ray of morning lights hits it exceptionally well, and Blair briefly looks over the chemistry review packet. _It's summer break, _she drawls out, trying to lower her voice in an effort to mimic that of her idol's. _It's summer break, and we're at my parent's house, studying for an exam that's not going to be until September. October, maybe._

Across the room, Nelly Yuki sits tightly, her ankles crossed as if perma-glued together; Isabel Coates and Kati Farkas exchange exasperated looks and look like twins in their matching skirts and tops. Blair briefly wonders if they had planned to match: and if so, why hadn't they included her, but knows better-everybody on the UES has their own best friend, and Serena's hers. Of course, Serena, is going to be on the other side of the globe for the next two months. _If I didn't know better, _Isabel approaches cautiously, _I'd say that you sound like Serena._

_I'm not Serena, _Blair bites back, hastily. _I'm not. I'm just trying to have a bit of fun over summer break. We're moving to the Upper School of Constance-Billiard, and that means_—

_Harder classes, _Nelly interrupts. _Meaning we'll have to study harder if we're going to maintain our GPA's. _She focuses on her chemistry review packet, bubbling in answers quickly, looking up and down every now and then, wondering if anybody is noticing the way she seems to be getting smarter than all of them.

Kati barks out a laugh. _As for me, boys._

_Boys, _Isabel echoes, speaking the word almost reverently; Blair resists the urge to start snorting, because honestly, Isabel's obsession with finding a new boyfriend had gone to some serious extremes last year (including hiring some obscure band from Brooklyn, and going to said band's concert, dying her hair blonde for two weeks, and putting on four pounds). Instead, Blair laughs. Her sky blue eyes flicker across the room, in a manner as though she is scanning. _Say, _Isabel continues, taking up the opportunity they've all been waiting for coyly. _I haven't seen you with Nate all summer._

The girls tilt their heads upward, and even Nelly Yuki takes a break from bubbling in random answers, then taking a pause, and erasing them all, before bubbling in the exact same letters. Blair sighs, dreamily. _Nate's fine. He's working on the Captain's ship_

_You know, if I had a boyfriend, not saying that Nate isn't fine or anything, because he's totally fine_—

Blair tilts her head to the side, and puts down the dried apricots (20) in favour of a Rainier cherry (5). _Your point?_

_I would just choose a boyfriend who had, you know, better friends._

Blair sighs. _I know what you mean. Chuck freaking Bass. I don't even know why Nate associates with somebody like Chuck; sure, he's rich and everything, but that's new money, too; and he's a complete rascal. Nate hangs out with his stoner gang too, and then masks his breath with some weird sort of air freshener. Do you think it's possible to get second-hand drug?_

_Second-hand drug? _Nelly smiles, wryly. _That doesn't even exist, _her smile fades quickly. _Of course, on the other hand, second-hand smoke; that's a legitimate concern, especially since we live in the city. Then again, it's only a concern in some of the lower parts of the city. Like Brooklyn, for example._

_Nelly, you used to live in Brooklyn, _Kati pipes up. _Or did you forget?_

_Because if you do forget where you came from, _Isabella continues, smiling fakely, _we'll always be here to remind you._

Blair shrugs, _That's what friends are for. Oh, and __Isabel, _Blair drawls out. _If you really want a boyfriend, I know somebody who'll definitely go out with you._

_Really? _Isabel raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her ribs.

_Yeah, _Blair nods emphatically. _Dan Humphrey. _The room bursts into peals of laughter as Isabel throws a cushion at Blair's head.

...

She's fifteen when her father is leaving—

No, not leaving, he's left. Blair's sort of tired of people leaving her, because Serena left for 'boarding school'—at least that was what Lily Van Der Woodsen had murmured pathetically over the landline—the week prior, and her mother is holed up in her bedroom, drinking a bottle of fragrant-smelling wine and surrounding, no, burying herself in piles of paperwork and custody arrangements.

_I'm not leaving, _she tells her mother. _I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving this city._

It takes weeks before Eleanor tells her, _You don't have to be angry at your father, _but the two of them know it's a lie, because they're both angry at Harold for separate and together reasons, and for a moment, they are a family broken down two-thirds of the way, but at the very least they have each other, at least until Eleanor jets off to Tokyo and sends an e-mail—an e-mail, of all things—that she'll be back in a few months. Blair lies down on the cherise-coloured sofa and smiles at the way it reeks of alcohol and jasmine flowers, a horrible combination that results in drowsiness and regret.

_I should have left, _she murmurs to herself, shifting from side to side. Her headband digs into the sides of her head, and she takes it off, throwing it across the room and smiling (but wincing inside) at the way it hits the purple vase her father had purchased a few years back, a few years back when they were still a proper family, aside from her mother's need to control every situation, and her father's struggles at work. _I should have gone to Paris._

Blair stands up, practically runs up the staircase, and stands in front of her mirror, twisting from side to side. _Can you imagine, _she speaks fervently, in a haze, _life in Paris? Life in Paris would be amazing. There would be shops, and oh, that little cafe with the macaroons daddy always bought for me. _There's empty cartons of those lilac coloured macaroons nestled between the sheets, and Blair looks at them and feels nothing but empty regret: there's no reason to be sorry, for her mother's done the same thing, drinking and eating her heart into oblivion.

_I'm not my mother, _she reminds herself. _That wouldn't be such a bad thing though, _Blair thinks, splayed out across the mattress, then shifting from side to side, forcing her ankles to cross over one another. _Sure, my mother's lost her man, but she doesn't need a man to be strong. She doesn't need a man to be a queen, so why do—_

Her phone rings, and Blair bounces off the bed, nearly hitting her head on the frame as she falls awkwardly, thin limbs with cellulite beginning to hang off, splayed out across the hardwood flooring. _Nate, _the screen reads, and Blair presses her hands together, a lopsided smile forming on her face; despite the incoherent state she finds herself often in these days, it's Nate. "Hey, Blair!" His familiar, excited voice rings through, and Blair tilts her head to the side, wondering why on earth he sounds so exuberant. Maybe he's stoned. He usually is these days.

"Nate," she states, apprehensively. He should have called earlier; it had been at least a few weeks since her mother had left for Tokyo, and about a month since her father left for Paris with Roman. "Why are you calling at this hour?" It's the wrong words spilling out of her mouth; she's definitely going to lose hold of him, even more than she already has, at this rate. For a moment, Blair sort of doesn't care.

"Uh, sorry, I know it's late, but I was wondering if you could go pick up Chuck?" Nate rambles out; on the other side of the line, Blair raises an eyebrow and presses her fingers to her temples. She repeats the gesture from her mother, but it doesn't seem to do anything except ingrain her fingernails into her scalp, causing a painful sensation. "I know, I'm sorry, but I'm at my grandfather's, and I can't leave, and there's nobody else who I could ask this of, but he's in jail on the Lower West Side, um."

"Yeah, sure," she sighs, again. "I'll do it."

"Thanks Blair!" He chirps. _He fucking chirped, _Blair thinks to herself, and resists the urge to throw her phone across the room. _My dad left and my mom left, and Nate didn't even mention to ask once if I was okay or not. I'm going to break up with him, _she resolves._ As soon as school starts back up again, I'm breaking up with him. I'd rather have no boyfriend at all then be stuck with some moron who doesn't care about me._

Truth be told, he'd only been this way since Serena had left for boarding school: something told Blair that he knew the truth, why Serena had left, and she sort of hated him for it. Serena was her best friend, not Nate's. _I'm going out, _she states, letting the words slip into the silence, slips on an ugly orange peacoat to disguise herself, and leaves. _  
_

...

_Hello! _She chirps, facing the disgruntled looking woman across the table. _I'm here to collect Chuc-Charles Bass?_

The woman tilts her head to the side. _I'll need to see some ID, and you can't bail him out just yet. He has to go through the process of a trial in court, then he has to be cleared for bail—which, _she looks down at the paperwork with a disapproving glare, _might not be happening this time around. And also, if he's picked up on a bench warrant, he has to spend 30 days in jail._

Blair purses her lips together, _I'm sorry, miss, but that won't be possible. We have eighth grade beginning in less than two weeks, and I understand that Charles' behavior has been erratic over the past few days, but that's no excuse to deprive him of an education. Everybody has a right to an education. _She speaks in an assured tone, trying to piece together words she's overheard her father saying on the landline and bits and pieces from the AP U.S. Goverment prep book her mother had stored away for high school.

_That's correct, but Charles Bass was found in the company of drugs and underage drinking-he's thirteen, but there's still no excuse for his behavior, especially since this isn't the first time we've taken him in. _The woman shrugs, _How much are you willing to pay?_

Looking into her off-white purse, Blair smiles. _How much do you need?_

...

_Where's Nate? _Chuck scowls when he sees her.

_I hate Brooklyn, _Blair replies, looking around and then remembering to look down; Gossip Girl is everywhere these days, and if not Gossip Girl, then any random person who knows who she is, which seems to be basically everybody these days. She can just imagine tomorrow morning's headlines: B in Brooklyn, hitting rock bottom. _I hate this place, I hate these people, I hate everything about the city._

_I didn't call you to bail me out, _he's still scowling, and looks like he'll never stop. Which, Blair knows, is completely plausible. _I called Nate, not his whining girlfriend._

She narrows her eyes, _Take that back._

_Jeez, Blair, it's Brooklyn, not—oh, fuck, what is that?_

Blair raises an eyebrow, _It's a taxi. _She moves towards it quickly, the stiletto of her high heels already dotted with mud stains. _Are you coming or not?_

_I'm not going in a taxi. Where's my limo?_

_Just get in, Chuck._

After what feels like an eternity of staring, he gets into the canary-yellow coloured taxi. _So, uh, you alright, then?_ Chuck asks a few minutes later, playing with the ends of his scarf. _You know, about the whole thing with your father—_

She looks down, speaking quieter. _Did Nate tell you about that?__  
_

_I don't need Nate to point out the obvious. But, really, you alright?_

_Don't,_ she hisses. After a moment, Blair sighs and fidgets with the chestnut curls of her hair, wondering why they've lost their luster so quickly; perhaps, more hairspray next time. _I'm sorry, it's just—_

_It gets easier_, he speaks in an assured tone. _It does._

...

The balance wasn't right without Serena; it just wasn't.

Serena was the one who kept them all somewhat relatively stable, and then, in return, they all made sure that she was somewhat relatively stable; Blair thinks that she might have preferred it when Nate had most of his attentions focused on Serena, because these days, he was almost clingy around her; not that his attentions weren't unwelcome, they were just unexpected, and for the wrong reasons too.

Then again, two months later, when Serena returns from boarding school and Nate consequently forgets their four-year anniversary, Blair wishes that Serena had never come back in the first place.

...

In the middle of ninth grade, Blair finds herself standing between a one-legged woman with a terrible Polish accent and a sulky twenty-something, attempting to maintain a poker face despite the horrid circumstances. _He should be here by now, _she thinks, pacing back and forth in the small allotted room in which at least five people have been placed in. _Here, how about this: I won't break up with Nate if he actually shows up.__  
_

Deep down, Blair knows that if there is a break up between them—a real one, not the half-hearted ones that they do every now and then, because honestly, she can only be so patient with Nate, and Nate can only pretend to care for so long—it would be something a bit more major than Nate forgetting their four-year anniversary. Or not. She knows that if it was any other guy, she would have already broken up with them years ago, but this was Nate: Nate Archibald, the boy she had had a crush on since the second grade, the only boy that her mother deemed acceptable.

Blair knows that even if she wasn't the one who prompted a breakup with Nate, her mother would blame her for it: insult her on her added weight, lackluster, thin hair, dull personality, her non-Serena-ness most likely. _He should be here by now, _she repeats the words in her head over and over again. It had been at least twenty minutes since she had made the phone call, and not for the first time, Blair wonders if she should have called somebody else.

Then again, there wouldn't be anybody else. It was winter break: Kati and Iz, Penelope and even little Jenny Humphrey, the seventh grader minion-in-training, were out of town, ranging from Sun Valley to taking the EuroRail around Switzerland. _Serena, _she thinks, and then dismisses the thought: the two of them had been friends since before Blair could remember, but something had shifted between the two of them. _Serena probably wouldn't even pick up the phone on a Saturday night. Neither would Hazel, _the only one of her minion's who had decided to stay on the Upper East Side for the midterm break.

_Hillary Dunket, Jonathan Moon, Blair Waldorf,_ the woman calls off. _You're all free to go._

Blair moves forward quickly, trying to distract herself from the thin layer of dust that covers her clothes, and most likely, her hair; when she sees who came to bail her out of jail, she scowls, trying to mask her disappointment: Nate had failed her, yet again._ I can't believe you mauled the poor woman._ Chuck's laughing when he bails her out of jail, slipping the woman a pile of Franklin's.

Blair scowls, _I didn't maul her. I just pushed her._

_Into a moving vehicle. You know, she nearly died._

The woman didn't nearly die; Blair knows that Chuck had had quite a horrid habit of exaggerating the truth. He was practically known for it, along with his hedonistic lifestyle and bold, borderline questionable, fashion taste. _And I paid my price for staying in jail for nearly forever._

_You were in there for two hours._

_I know._ She pauses, remembering, _Anything on Gossip Girl?_

Chuck only smirks_. Do you really want to know?_

She sighs. _No. By the way, where's Nate?_

_He's at his grandfather's._

Blair rolls her eyes, _Right. The old grandfather's excuse. I know that he's in town. He was in town three hours ago when he forgot our four-year anniversary—I mean, who does something like that?_

_Why are you asking me?_

_You're his best friend, Chuck. You're supposed to know these things._

_You do know that we don't talk about you. It's actually one of the subjects that Nate practically bans._

_I should break up with him_, she acknowledges, fidgeting with her ivory headband, and then with the seatbelt of his limosuine.

_You should._

_You're a horrible best friend._

_Just telling you the truth. Speaking of best friends, you didn't call Serena._

_No._ He throws her a glance, suspiciously. _What, Bass?_

_Nothing._

_It's always something with you. You know what? I don't care—_

He raises an eyebrow, _When did Blair Waldorf, the girl who has an opinion on everything, literally everything, stop caring about her best friend?_

She sighs. _I don't know._

...

Blair kisses Nate and there it is:

Chuck thinks, _Stop doing that, it's annoying, and it's frankly disgusting, and sure, I kiss tons of girls, but I don't do it in public and just stop it Waldorf, I hate how everything's changed but nothing's changed. _

Chuck thinks, _Blair. _

Chuck thinks of lots of things, and never says them out loud.

...

Halfway through the eleventh grade, Blair leaves for Paris: it's similar to the boarding school stunt that Serena had pulled, without even saying goodbye, but not really, because Blair had called Serena at least five times, and all of them had gone to voicemail, or more likely, Serena had pressed the IGNORE button repeatedly, and Nate wouldn't even talk to her, and she didn't want to show Chuck how much he did hurt her with his words, so she finds herself standing on one of the J.F.K. runways, takes a deep breath of the New York City air, and exhales, and leaves.

She's not all too surprised when two lines show up on the pregnancy test, but still orders ten more boxes, which rule with a majority of positive.

Her father's the first one to tell her that she doesn't have to do this—the abortion, he means—but she still goes through with it, because honestly, she's sixteen, not twenty-six; her mother, on the other hand, sounds disapproving over the phone, and Blair's quite thankful that she never got a Skype, because her mother would be giving her the look that makes her feel like she's dying, and everything's quite disjointed for a while, and Blair hasn't felt like Blair Waldorf in an achingly long time.

Nate calls twice—once about French finals, once about how she's doing, and all Blair can think is that he's not the same boy she fell in love with anymore; she doesn't get butterflies in her stomach when she hears his voice, and she ignores his text messages most of the time. It's tiring to communicate with him when their relationship has probably only been renewed because her mother went to make amends and the Captain was more than willing to apologize on Nate's behalf: therefore, not really a relationship at all.

She ignores Serena's calls the first three times, before she picks up and listens to a string of aimless apologies and rambling sentences, but Blair can tell that they're genuine (or, at least a lot more genuine that Nate's were) and forgives her.

Blair's lying down on the suede couch when the sing-song of the doorball echoes once, twice, thrice, and she peers out the window from the upper floor and then ducks back, as if shocked. _Blair_, her dad's voice echoes from the lower floor. _Blair, can you get the door?_

_I'm busy!_ She nearly screams, as a thousand thoughts go processing through her hand, namely, _Serena, you're the worst best friend ever for telling him where I am _and _Maybe he cares, but no, if he cared, he would have come earlier, but then again, he never knew where I was, so he couldn't have _and _Nate only called twice and one of those calls was about a question on the French final_, and Blair exhales. _Maybe he'll leave, _she thinks. Knowing Chuck Bass, probably not.

She can hear her dad's footsteps on the newly replaced hardwood flooring and walks slowly out of her door, standing at the edge of the wall, her back pressed against it, head tilted slightly to see the figure in the door. _Hello sir,_ Chuck speaks in an oddly formal tone, and all Blair can think about is when he stopped wearing bowties and scarfs, and started wearing ascots instead. _Is Blair here?_

_She's not here, Charles,_ her father speaks calmly and slowly, as though he is trying to maintain his rationality.

_Actually, I saw her through the window. Stalker, _Blair thinks. _I know that she's here, so could I please just talk to her for a few minutes. I even bought a few homework assignments,_ he motions to his bag.

_Look,_ Harold states,_ If Blair wanted to talk to you, she would have returned your calls: you didn't need to come all the way to Paris._

_Just for a minute—_

Her father shuts the door.

...

If Blair had to describe life on the Upper East Side in one word, she would say _unexpected._

Nonetheless, the death of Bartholomew Bass, previous Time Magazine's MAN OF THE YEAR and number fifteen on Forbes' Top 100, is one of the most unexpected events to ever have occurred. The funeral had been postponed for a few weeks after the announcement at the ball, and Chuck had been MIA for most of those days. She finally finds him a few minutes before the ceremony, outside the gates of the cemetery (the paparazzi flashing is an afterthought, and she slips the police officer in charge her credit card in exchange for some peace). "Chuck," she moves forward. "I really am sorry."

"Shut up," he murmurs, hazily. "You didn't kill him. One of the few things that isn't your fault."

Nate steps out of the limosuine, and takes one of Chuck's arm; Blair moves to take the other. "You're drunk, aren't you?" She asks; accuses. "This isn't your fault either."

"You don't know anything," he spits back, words falling to the floor like venom. "You don't."

The funeral is a sad affair: paparazzi surround the gates of the cemetery, and a few manage to sneak through the gates and fences of the police setup (because honestly, the police are even more useless than the paparazzi these days), but only twenty or so people had been invited to the ceremony. Chuck stumbles around, his eyes half-glazed over, and Nate and Blair attempt to keep him upright; he doesn't end up saying anything, making a speech, and he collapses halfway through the funeral.

Serena murmurs a quick _thanks_ before she takes him home, and Dan Humphrey walks around uselessly, and Blair sort of feels for him because she feels just as useless as him.

In the morning after the funeral, he's gone, and all Blair can think is that leaving seems to be a common trend with them.

...

The rejection letter is hidden between the pages of _Brave New World _and some obscure musical sonata sheet music collection, but Gossip Girl still ends up finding out before the end of the week; Nelly Yuki and Dan Humphrey and some redhead from L'École get into Yale, but not her.

Blair snaps out of it in three days, and sort of never stops pretending that everything's okay, because at night, baby Yale is crying upstairs, and Eleanor has jetted off to Tokyo yet again and Cyrus is sleeping, more like snoring, and Aaron Rose has bought a stash of weed from Central Park the week prior, so he's pretty useless, and she's exasperated by how useless everybody seems to be these days.

"Yale," she murmurs, flicking a stray piece of chestnut-coloured bang from baby Yale's face. "Yale, Yale, Yale."

Serena had promised that she would be there for her; then again, the same promise had been made since the seventh grade, and the promise had been partly kept in junior year, and only for half of senior year, when they were on amiable terms. Then again, as soon as they graduate Constance-Billiard, Blair's sure that Serena's going to pull a Lily, pack up her bags, and move to L.A.. _She'll be back in a week though, _Blair thinks, _maybe a bit longer this time. Then again, it's Serena. She always comes back. _

"Miss Blair," Dorota calls from downstairs. "There's a visitor downstairs for you."

Blair rolls her eyes, "Send her up." Jenny Humphrey had probably been one of the most problematic pieces of her high school years; the little girl had attempted conniving her way into the school, building her way up despite her base of Brooklyn poverty, which of course, was quite a tragic story, but here's the thing: poor girls don't marry rich boys. She turns around as the door opens, about to fling some old dresses into Little J's arms, and then stops. "Chuck," she breathes, then sighs. "What are you doing here?"

When she wakes up in the morning, Chuck is gone, and in its place is an acceptance letter,

...

"Chuck!" She walks quickly down the street, smiling broadly. "I got it! I got the internship!"

He embraces her quickly, then glances at her with a quizzical expression. "That's great, but what internship are you talking about?'

Blair rolls her eyes, "Silly, you know which one: the most important one. The one that lets me intern with Vera Wang for six months in London? I can't believe that I actually got; I was pretty sure that one of the other girls at Columbia, mainly Denise, was going to get it, but I guess that it was my mother's connections that helped me in the end—"

"You're going to London for six months?"

"Well, I have to accept first, but of course I'll accept. Actually," she smiles. "I already said yes."

...

Three years passes; the first month was filled with phone calls every night between the two of them, and the rest passed by with internships, and suddenly, the leaving stopped.

"I can't believe you're getting married to Chuck Bass." Blair rolls her eyes, smiling. "I mean," Serena continues, "We all saw it coming, but still."

...

"Another gift?" She raises an eyebrow, and can't help but smile.

"Divorce papers, actually," is Chuck's barely audible reply.

He doesn't look at her face, and walks out of the penthouse hastily. Blair downs a glass of her mother's secret wine stash, and then another, and then another.

...

"Waldorf women don't get divorced twice in the span of one year," her mother drawls out.

Her mother is an interesting character in her life these days, Blair thinks, because one moment, she is attempting to be a normal mother and takes her daughter on typical mother-daughter shopping trips, and the next, she is criticizing her daughter's life decisions as though it is her fault she lost her memory and lost almost everything along with it. "Yes, Mother."She sighs, feeling sixteen once again.

...

"Tell me a story."

Blair ends up calling Serena a week later, because maybe Serena's all that she has left for right now, and maybe a best friend is more than enough.

"So," Serena tells her on a Friday night, "This is how the story goes. A girl grows up, meets a boy, falls in love with the boy, marries him, and lives happily ever in an Upper East Side penthouse. The end."

Blair laughs, "That's not the ending I remember."

...

_Present Day—August 2014._

_Good morning Upper East Siders!_

_Some of us are returning from tanning in the Hampton's, while others have been cooped up in our penthouses, sipping on champagne during the day, attending galas at night. But what we all have in common is starting back up again in August—school._

_SPOTTED:_

_E, back-to-school shopping at Bendel's. Bet your mother doesn't know that diamond necklaces aren't on the school supply list. T, making unwise decisions across the city in Brooklyn. Didn't anybody tell you that cargo pants are meant solely for the poor and the unfortunate? Judging by your hobo summer makeover, looks like you're both. Z, looking good. Not kidding this time. Looks like a summer working with the Peace Corps was all that was needed to transform you from out to in. D, spotted in Central Park, exchanging a Franklin for a bag of, uh, herbs? Somebody should have told you that you shouldn't be spending your allowance on a quick joint. C, spotted out of the ICU unit, out for a stroll, donning a familiar looking scarf. Say, ten years ago, an entirely different C would be spotted wearing that scarf. _

_Speaking off the past, let's take a moment to notice our former generation._

_S, finally back from London, looking unnaturally pale. I'm sure that the lack of D wrapped around her finger has something to do with that. C, spotted walking quickly out of office buildings and back into his trademark limousine-who would have seen this coming? Definitely not me, that's for sure. Little J and K hitting up the shops at Bendel's—maybe a farewell destination?_

_And most importantly; former Queen B, spotted wearing a chartreuse peplum top. I'd say that there might be a bun in the oven, but let's face it—this is not the Sun. A lot of you out there have jumped to that conclusion, and as a gift to all my loyal supporters (because where would I be without you lovelies), I promise to find out more. After all, three things will always be out: the sky, denim jackets, and the truth._

_You know you love me,_  
_xoxo,_  
_Gossip Girl_

The sky is turning a precious blue shade of azure; of course, the pollution settles a discontented fog upon Central Park—individuals wander aimlessly, and yelps and screams echo from the dog park. _Chuck Bass, _Blair states. It's an interesting sight, she thinks, Chuck Bass having a dog named Monkey, Chuck Bass assorting with commoners at the dog park, of all places, Chuck Bass, back from Tokyo. Chuck Bass, her ex-husband, who left and has now come back.

_Blair. _He sounds surprised.

They've spent years trying to find each other: Blair remembers days and weeks spent looking for Chuck, finally tracing him down to China, but then tries to forget New Years' Eve, and more specifically, the moments after the countdown, because they reek of Jack (because he was there, because he wanted her when nobody else did) and mistakes, and she never meant to hurt him in that way, or maybe she did; Chuck remembers days and weeks of trying to feel something other than the fake smiles and wounded expressions, the arrogant smirks and the avoidance of certain questions, and then finally feeling something as his heart got ripped apart, not for the first time.

And for a moment, they are sixteen, and they barely know each other past the pretenses that they don for their classmates and the silk clothes that hide their ambitions and dreams; but the moment passes by, and they are in their twenties, for this is the real world, that moves a little too quickly, and she walks quickly forward and embraces him, nestling her neck in the crook of his shoulder, and marveling at the way that it doesn't smell like scotch and regret.

Then, Blair slaps him, hard, and order is restored to the universe.


End file.
